Nico Wa Petto

Nico walked into my entrance area, where I have a large reed hanging from my wall, and asked me if I roll a lot of sushi with it. It took me awhile to catch that one. It does indeed look like a giant sushi roller. I forgot how humorous youngest children can be, no matter how old they are. It’s so hard to refuse this kid anything. Was I always this much of a pushover? But he’s my pet, I decided, and I really don’t mind at all. The fact that I don’t mind doing things I never would have done at home surprises me. So I wash his clothes, do the dishes and make him dinner and coffee. I hang up his rolled clothes he constantly tosses on my clean tatami mats and hang them up where I directed him. I ask him to make something, half-joking and half-wondering what he can make, where he beams and comes up with a peanut butter sandwich and some chips he conned me into buying. He wants to know where I keep all the snacks and we need more milk and Kool-aid and ice cream. But I am enjoying every second of it. I am excited to show him my mad cooking skills and watch him greedily chomp down every bit of food I make. How much bread can a person eat? I like badgering him into studying Japanese while knowing half the time he’s surfing the internet. Reminding him to take his shoes off at the door, making him learn to eat with chopsticks. Every night he gives me a report on how making friends is coming along and what he explored that day. I feel like a 10 year old with a puppy. Who knew that I could be domesticated? I never would have guessed in a million zillion years. Damn you, Japan!